


it is most sane and sunly (and more it cannot die)

by queencrank



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bittersweet Ending, Feelings Realization, First Time Blow Jobs, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, the girls in the pictures are like. his sisters or smt idk, will doesn't have a wife or daughters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:01:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22869802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queencrank/pseuds/queencrank
Summary: As soon as Schofield receives word that Blake is okay, he drops everything else to go to him.-Following the whole issue with the Second Devons, Blake is discharged from service due to his injuries, and Schofield soon joins him.
Relationships: Tom Blake & William Schofield, Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 10
Kudos: 112





	it is most sane and sunly (and more it cannot die)

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to write this as soon as the movie started and was like 'okay. boyfriends. good.'
> 
> also. dean chapman is from essex so tom is from essex. idk about will but. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> also also. the history major in me is screaming about the inaccuracies in this fic but. let me have my fun
> 
> this movie got me fucked up

Blake's blood is sticky and thick on Schofield's hands, but he's beyond caring at this point.

He stares down at his pale, ashen face and clutches at his friend's abdomen. Blake's eyes are on the sky, watching the smoke from the fire waft into the sky. Dazed confusion fills them.

'What are they?' He asks, his voice thick and distant, 'Are we being shelled?'

Schofield looks to the barn, engulfed in flames.

'They're embers. The barn is on fire.'

'I've been hit - what was it?' Schofield looks back at Blake, voice stolen by fear.

'You were stabbed,' He chokes out. Blake's hand lays over his, pressing it further against his wound.

'Am I dying?' He sounds like a small child woken by a bad dream, fearful and helpless.

Schofield is silent. Blake meets his eyes, and he adjusts his hold on him, cradling his head. He nods.

'Yes,' his heart breaks at the way Blake's chin wobbles, 'I think you are.'

'Oh.'

Silence follows as Blake pats at the inside pocket of his uniform jacket. Schofield goes into the pocket for him, pulls out a wallet. He shows it to Blake, who nods weakly. Rifling through it the papers, he finds a photograph of Blake's family and presses it to his other hand. Blake looks up to him and opens his mouth to speak when a new voice interrupts them.

'You alright, mate?'

Schofield looks up to see two Privates standing over them, detached concern on their faces.

'He's - he's too heavy. I can't carry him on my own.'

'It's alright - it's okay.'

'Come on - ' The other Private speaks, starting towards them, ' - Help him.'

Schofield hoists Blake up by the arms, and the two Privates take his legs. Blake lets out a loud wail of pain, similar to what he let out when Schofield initially tried to lift him, clutching at Schofield's hands. Schofield grits out something that he hopes is reassuring, a small ray of hope appearing with the arrival of these two.

A Captain approaches, quiet and gentle, and helps the three of them carry Blake towards the road.

'A friend?' The Captain asks, and Schofield nods, eyes trained on Blake's ashen face.

'What happened to him?' One of the Privates pipes in.

'Was it the plane?' The other Private asks. Schofield nods again.

After Schofield fills the Captain in on their mission, they make it to a convoy of four trucks and a car, where a Colonel barks orders at a small group of men who are attempting to lift a tree that blocks the road. They load Blake onto a truck where they can find the room, with the Captain promising to take Blake to an Aid Post on the way to Ecoust. The rational part of Schofield knows it's probably too late, that he's already too far gone for anyone to help, but the part of him wild with hope is desperate enough to believe that Blake could make it out of this alive.

**

Schofield is forced to leave Blake with the convoy at the canal, but when he leaves him, he's still breathing, at least. One of the Privates works some sort of magic to stem the flow of blood to a slow trickle.

Before he goes, Schofield stops and looks down at his friend. Blake is fading in and out of consciousness, and he smiles up at him, dopey with blood loss. Schofield reaches down and gently eases the rings from his fingers, finally listening to his rational side. With that, Schofield jumps down out of the truck and says his goodbyes. As he walks towards the fallen bridge, the Captain promises that he'll send word when Blake's condition is more certain.

**

When he meets Blake's brother, he has no idea if Blake is still alive. He tells Joseph Blake as such, handing him his rings, and he sees the same helpless hope fire in his eyes that he felt at the farmhouse.

'Do you know where he would be? If he's alive?'

'I have no idea, Sir. I'm sorry.'

'That's...' Joseph stares down at the rings in his hand, and nods, 'That's alright. What's your name?'

'William Schofield, Sir. Will,' There's a beat, then Schofield continues, 'Tom's a good man. Always telling funny stories. He... He saved my life.'

Joseph finally looks Schofield in the eye. Schofield reaches out to shake his hand.

'I'm glad you were with him,' Joseph says, taking his hand, 'Thank you, Schofield.'

**

As soon as Schofield receives word that Blake is okay, he drops everything else to go to him.

He had been honorably discharged following the mission, due to the state of his hand - there wasn't much that the doctors could do other than just take it off before infection spread any further - and when the letter arrives, he's out in the field, working as best he can with one hand. As soon as he opens it, and recognizes Blake's handwriting - steady, even - his mind goes blank, and he doesn't even register what the letter says at first.

_Sco,_

_I guess my leave is back on. I've been sent home to recuperate - doctors said I was lucky to make it out of there alive._   
_Thank you. I have no idea where this letter will find you, but wherever you are, I hope you've learned how to smile, you mopey bastard._   
_I would like to see you at some time._

_\- Tom_

Blake's address is written at the bottom of the letter.

**

Schofield doesn't know how to feel as he climbs on the train to Essex.

He wasn't sure if he should bring some sort of gift for the Blakes, but on the way to the station he decided to pick up a small bouquet for Blake's mother - _Sorry your son almost died for me, ma'am. Here - have some tulips!_ He clutches at the bouquet now, staring out the window at the countryside whipping past as he fiddles with the wrapping paper.

What he'll say when he gets there, he has no idea. All he knows is that the news that Blake was alive was such a _relief_ \- he couldn't bear losing another friend to this damn war.

**

Walking up the road, Schofield catches sight of a blonde woman tending to some flowering cherry trees out in front of a modestly sized farmhouse. The house is yellow, with mint green shutters and a white front door.

The woman catches sight of him walking up the road and straightens up, shielding her face in the sun. He raises a hand in shy hello, and once he's within earshot, she calls out to him.

'Are you William?'

Schofield nods and picks up the pace, reaching the fence that separates the house from the road.

'I am, ma'am,' He says, and she smiles warmly. She has the same smile as Blake, too big and too accepting.

'I figured we would be seeing you at some point. I'm Anna.'

'I would've written, ma'am, but - '

'Oh, it's no bother,' Anna dusts her hands off on her apron and unlatches the front gate, 'Tommy should be asleep at this time, but I can show you to his room if you like.'

'I would like that very much.'

Schofield hands the bouquet to Anna once they're inside, suddenly shy about the gesture, and she says something about putting them in some water later, setting it down on the kitchen table.

Blake's bedroom is at the top of the stairs. Anna knocks on the door and calls his name, and Schofield hears a slight murmur from within.

'Tommy? You've got a visitor.' There's another murmur, and she opens the door, stepping aside to let Schofield in.

The bedroom is decently sized but sparsely furnished: two beds, two bedside tables, two dressers, a desk shoved up against the wall under the window. Blake is sitting up in his bed, looking decidedly better than the last time Schofield saw him. The other bed is neatly made, and on the table beside it is a framed photo of Joseph and a woman, both smiling.

The two men stare at each other in tense silence, then Anna speaks.

'I'll leave you two alone - holler if you need anything.' With that, the door shuts softly. 

Schofield is frozen in place. Blake smiles then pats the space beside him on the bed.

'There you are, you bastard,' He finally says. Schofield goes hot, and carefully sits down on the mattress, careful not to jostle the other man.

'Is it bad?' He asks, voice hoarse. He can't look away from the place Blake was stabbed, and he remembers the feeling of his blood caking his hands, hot and sticky even after he wiped them on his trousers.

'Heard the other man is worse off.' Blake says with a shrug. He reaches forward, taps his stump, 'Looks like you made it out just as badly.'

Schofield forces himself to look Blake in the face. Suddenly, anger fills him, and he gives him an earful about how stupid he was for trying to save that German, how he's too kind for his own good, how he's fucking _naive_ for thinking anything good would've come from it. Blake takes it all with a soft smile, hands folded in his lap. When Schofield runs out of insults and swears, he leans back, defeated. He looks at the wall adjacent to Blake's bed. The picture is posted there, right in Blake's eye line. Dried blood obscures half of the picture. Schofield looks away quickly.

'Thank you,' Blake says softly. Schofield looks at him sharply, 'For getting to my brother on time.' Schofield shrugs, like it's no big deal. Blake's smile widens to that familiar grin. Schofield hadn't realized how badly he missed Blake's smile - Blake in general, actually - until he sees that grin. He can't help but smile back, and Blake leans back against the bedframe, satisfied.

'Stupid bastard,' Schofield mutters affectionately, and Blake's fingers slide across the puckered skin of his stump. The stitches are still fresh, and the touch stings, but Schofield doesn't say anything. The brunet stares at it, seeming to work over something in his head.

'Sco - are you home now? For good?' He asks softly.

'For good,' Schofield replies gently. 'You?'

'For good.'

**

They spend the rest of the afternoon much like they spent their downtime when they were out in the thick of things. Anna brings a chair up from the kitchen for Schofield to sit more comfortably on, and Blake jokes away relentlessly. Schofield has heard half of the jokes already, but he's just glad he gets to hear them again, in Blake's voice, with Blake's peculiar way of telling stories, that he just listens, occasionally finishing the punchline to relish in the annoyed look Blake shoots at him.

Schofield meant to just spend a few hours at the Blakes' house, but when Anna calls for supper, he realizes it's much too late to start back now.

Blake pushes the blankets off his legs and slowly maneuvers himself out of bed. Schofield moves to help him up, but he waves him off.

'Go help Mum with the food. I need to get dressed.'

'Are you sure?' Schofield watches as Blake stiffly lifts himself to his feet. His movements remind him of his grandfather - stiff, old, frail - and it _scares_ him. He knows he's healing, but he used to be so... _youthful_.

'Sco. I'm not going to keel over while I'm putting on some pants. If I need help, I can call for it.'

Schofield lingers for a moment longer, then leaves Blake to it, bounding down the stairs to the kitchen.

As Schofield is setting out plates, Blake comes down the stairs, putting most of his weight against the banister and moving slowly. He moves to help him, but recognizes the set in his jaw and decides against it.

Blake makes it and lowers himself into a chair, breathing heavily. Anna carries a casserole dish to the center of the table and only looks at her son, the look in her eyes concerned but understanding. Schofield sits beside him, watching as Blake touches his abdomen.

'Does it hurt?' He asks under his breath. Blake shakes his head.

'Not too badly. Just making sure,' He replies, just as quiet. Making sure he's still breathing, that he'll live.

They have a simple yet filling chicken dinner, and Schofield helps with the dishes after they're finished. Blake retreats upstairs, visibly tired.

'My boys are all I have,' Anna says quietly, rinsing off a plate, 'We lost their father. It's been hard, especially on Tommy - he was sixteen when it happened.'

'I'm sorry.'

'I really can't thank you enough, Will. For saving Tommy.'

'It's the other way around. He... He saved me, ma'am.' Anna smiles at him, tearful, and nods.

'Me too, Will. He saved me too.'

**

Schofield tries to leave after the dishes are all done, but Anna won't let him. It's dark out, she says, the train won't run this late anyway, she says, even if did you wouldn't want to be on it this late.

So he's put into Blake's room, into Joseph's bed, a spare set of pajamas thrust into his hand.

Schofield lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling, listening to Blake's breathing. He wonders, idly, if he would feel this way if it was any other man in Blake's shoes. If it was another friend who he held in his lap, dying, only to watch as he's jerked back from the precipice. He thinks of Blake's smile, his laugh, and concludes that, no, he wouldn't. He would be relieved, of course, to have helped prevent another casualty, but _Blake_...

He stiffens in bed, realizing _why_ he was so fucking worked up about this, and suddenly he can't bear to think about it anymore. He turns onto his side, staring into the picture. Joseph's face seems cruel and taunting now. _How dare you_ , his smile seems to say, _how dare you think about my baby brother like this_. Schofield gently turns the photo around.

'Sco,' Blake says softly, breaking the silence. Schofield startles, burning in shame. Like Blake knows what he's thinking. He doesn't reply. 'I know you're awake. You snore.'

'I don't snore.' He finally says, giving up. Blake laughs softly.

'Yes, you do. I'm the one that had to put up with it. Come here for a second.'

'Why?'

'Because I'm too tired to come to you, that's why. I need to tell you something.'

'Christ,' Schofield sighs, pushing the covers off of him. He pads over to Blake's bed, sits on the edge. Blake reaches up, grabs his shoulder, pulling him down.

'I've been thinking,' His voice is quiet, scared.

'Uh oh.' Schofield tries to joke, but he can't help the way his heart slams in his throat.

'Let me speak, you bastard,' Blake snaps, tugging at his arm. Schofield quiets, looking down at the brunet, 'I almost died. You almost died. A few times, I heard. And... And I never told you. I never had the balls to tell you.'

'Tell me what?'

'I...' Blake goes quiet. He stares up at him, eyes round. He lets out a shaky breath, closing his eyes. 'I like... Men.'

'Oh,' Schofield says, throat tight, 'I don't... I don't care who you fuck, Blake.'

'No, it's not - ' Blake sighs in frustration and sits up in bed, 'I'm saying that I... I like _you_ , Sco.'

'Oh,' Schofield squeaks out. He should be excited, because _how convenient, huh?_ He realizes his true feelings and doesn't even have to agonize over them long - not even a minute later, and Blake is confessing his own feelings about him. But he's still reeling over the realization, he supposes, because all he can do is stare down at Blake.

' _Talk_ to me, Sco,' Blake whispers in agony. Schofield shuts down and surges forward without thinking, slamming his lips over Blake's. Blake squeaks in surprise, grabbing the side of his face. His body is stiff, then relaxes as he pulls Schofield in, fingers sinking into his hair. With a surprising intensity, he sits up into the kiss, grabbing Schofield's shoulder. At the sudden movement, Blake winces and Schofield breaks away, his anxieties pushed to the back of his mind with concern for the younger man.

'Okay?' He whispers, and Blake nods quickly.

'More than okay. If I had known you would've done that, I would've told you a lot sooner.' He says with a grin. Schofield laughs, rubs his hand through his hair.

'I didn't even know I would do that.'

'C' mere,' Blake lies back, gently pulling Schofield with him. Schofield hesitates, then slings his other arm across his waist. He stares down at it - the end is hidden by the sleeve of the pajama shirt, and the sight reminds him of his boyhood, playing at war with friends and tucking his arm inside his shirts, pretending to be injured. Blake follows his gaze and takes hold of his arm at the elbow, gently rolling the sleeve up. He raises his stump to his lips, gently kisses it.

'I always forget it's not there anymore. I even feel it sometimes - like I'm holding my hand in a bucket of ice water. It's so... Odd. That it's not there now.' Schofield says, flexing the fingers on his remaining hand. Blake runs his fingers down his forearm, and leans in, pushing his face against his neck. He breathes in, slow and deep, and wraps his arms around Schofield's waist.

'We can get you a hook,' He mumbles, and Schofield feels him smile. He cradles the back of his head in the crook of his elbow, and Blake looks up at him, eyes owlish in the poor light, 'Kiss me again, Sco.'

Schofield doesn't hesitate before doing as he's asked. Their mouths meet again, slower and more careful this time, and Blake's hands come up between their bodies to rest on Schofield's chest.

'Sco,' He whispers into his mouth, 'I want to... Can we...' His fingers linger on the top button of his shirt, and Schofield breaks the kiss to look down at the younger man. He nods quickly before resuming the kiss.

Blake slowly unbuttons his shirt, and when he gets the first three buttons undone, he breaks away to kiss a line down his pulse. Schofield tilts his head back and closes his eyes, trying to remember when he was last held like this, touched like this. Blake reaches his collarbone and nips at it, and Schofield hisses in surprise, tugging at his sleeve.

Getting the rest of the buttons on his shirt undone, Blake moves down and pushes it open, mouthing down Schofield's sternum. Schofield tilts his head back, letting out a shaky breath. Blake reaches up, fingers spanning across his collarbones.

'Look at me,' He whispers, and Schofield bites his lip, chin dropping to his chest. Blake smiles up at him, loosening the drawstring of his trousers.

'Blake,' Schofield croaks, and Blake sits back slightly.

'All good?' He asks, and Schofield nods.

'This is a dream,' He gets out. Blake laughs, tugging his trousers down around his hips.

'Need me to pinch you?' Blake teases, getting Schofield's trousers down to his knees. He moves back up and kisses him, hand slipping into his underwear. His fingers circle around his cock - already embarrassingly hard - his skin warm and rough against him. Blake leans in, kisses his ear, and Schofield pushes his face against his shoulder, breathing out shakily.

'It's been a while,' He whispers against his shirt, and Blake braces the back of his head, slowly stroking his shaft.

'I got you,' Blake kisses along his jaw. He sets up a slow pace, his strokes long and even over his length. Schofield grips his bicep to keep himself grounded, hiding his face in the crook of his neck.

Soon, he's reduced to a writhing mess, whimpering and cursing as he squirms under Blake's hands. He arches off the bed, heels scrabbling at the mattress for purchase. Blake shushes him, laughing all the while, reminding him of how thin the walls are.

' _Fuck_ , Blake,' He hisses, nails sinking into his bicep. Blake hums, murmuring encouragements into his ear.

'I've got you. It's okay,' He says, keeping him close against his body. Schofield bites at his shoulder to muffle a particularly loud moan, and Blake doesn't even flinch, just kisses his temple and rubs his thumb over the head of his cock, smearing the precum that's gathered there. Already exhausted, Schofield flops back against the mattress and leans his whole weight on Blake's shoulder. Blake holds him up, never letting up. 'Alright?' He asks, nose butting against his ear. Schofield nods, unable to find words, and Blake smiles, hums fondly.

He leans back and falters just for a moment; long enough to pull his cock from his underwear, then leans back in and resumes his ministrations. Schofield opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, distantly wondering how he got here, in his best friend's bed, with his best friend's hand on his _very_ hard cock.

But then Blake starts going faster, and all thoughts shoot right out of his head as he whines, lurching into him. They both fall silent, the only sound in the room the slick slide of Blake's hand stroking his cock. Blake sucks marks into the crook of his neck, where shirts would hide the purple, and Schofield twists knots into his hair with his fingers to hang on just a few moments longer.

He cums without warning, groaning Blake's name into his shoulder as he spills over his knuckles. Blake croons in his ear as he strokes him down from the high, holding him up as Schofield falls boneless against the pillow, dazed and grinning.

'Fuck,' He mumbles when he can think straight, and Blake's grinning face is the first thing he sees. He reaches up, grabs his face, and pulls him into a hard kiss. Blake drops down beside him when he lets him break away, pulling him against his side. Blake kisses his temple, brushing his hair off his sweaty forehead. 'You?'

'I'll let you catch your breath first,' Blake murmurs. Schofield pillows his head on his chest, watching him wipe his hand off on his pajama pants.

'Shouldn't have waited so long,' Schofield says breathlessly. Blake hums in agreement.

After a good while of them just lying together, drinking in each others' presence, Schofield finally stirs. 

He lifts his head from Blake's chest and looks up at him, that shyness returning suddenly.

'What do you like?' He asks, and Blake laughs.

'The same that any man likes, I suppose. A handy. Head. Whatever you're comfortable with.'

Schofield considers it for a moment, then pulls Blake forward so he's on his back. Taking a moment to take his shirt off and tuck himself back into his trousers, he makes quick work of Blake's pajama shirt. He unbuttons it in what must be record time, then tugs at one side to indicate for Blake to sit up. The younger man does just that, grinning as he shrugs it off and tosses it onto the floor.

'In a hurry?' He asks, and Schofield shakes his head.

'I'm not going anywhere.'

He makes himself slow down, kissing Blake with fervor as he loosens the knot he tied in the drawstring of his trousers. It's tight, and Schofield has to break the kiss with a curse to fumble with it. Blake rescues him, loosening it himself fairly easily. Schofield curses again and Blake grins, kissing him quickly. He awkwardly lifts his hips and shimmies out of them, kicking them off to the foot of the bed. Schofield sits back on his haunches, looking down at Blake. He raises onto his elbows and tilts his head to the side.

'Talk to me.'

'I... I want to try to use my mouth. I just... I'm not sure how to go about it.'

'Okay,' Blake sits up and moves to sit on the edge of the bed. He spreads his knees and pulls himself from his underwear, palming his cock idly. He motions to the space between his feet, and Schofield kneels there. Blake pushes his hair from his face for him and smiles. 'Pretty.' He murmurs, mostly to himself, and Schofield flushes.

'Blake.'

'Right - just. Erm. Suck? I'm not sure how to - you don't have to give me head, Sco. I'm fine with your hand.'

'I want to.'

'Okay,' Blake says softly. Tentatively, Schofield leans forward and presses his lips to the head of his cock. Blake hums in approval, so he runs his tongue across the silt experimentally. Blake's taste isn't unpleasant, certainly, but it is... Unfamiliar. He looks up at Blake and opens his mouth as wide as he can, taking his length into his mouth. Blake winces, gripping his hair. 'Watch your teeth.' He murmurs, and Schofield attempts to wrap his lips over his teeth.

He probably doesn't look at all graceful doing this as he bobs his head up and down, pressing his tongue to the underside of Blake's cock, but Blake's hips twitch at the sensation, and his grip eases on his hair. Figuring that he couldn't be doing _too_ bad of a job, he continues to just bob there for a bit, watching Blake's face for reactions. Blake's head is tilted back towards the ceiling. His eyes are shut and his lips are parted, but there isn't much change in his face. He tugs at Schofield's hair.

'Try alternating between that and something else.' He murmurs. Schofield pulls back so just the head of his cock is in his mouth and sucks at that. Blake curses under his breath at that, brows knitting together. ' _Yes_ ,' He hisses, 'That's good. That's really good.'

Pleased at the reaction, Schofield sinks back down and uses that same suction on his entire length, and Blake groans quietly, lurching forward and pulling his head flush to his pelvis. Schofield gags and pulls back, blinking away tears. Blake murmurs an apology, thumbing away a bit of drool that's gathered at the corner of his mouth. Schofield pulls off of him and swallows the spit, blinking up at him.

'Is this good?' He asks, and Blake nods with a soft moan.

'You have no idea how many times I've thought about you on your knees for me, Sco,' He says, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip, 'It's good. It's really good.' Schofield smiles and leans in, kisses the head of his cock lightly. Blake grips a fistful of his hair and pushes his hips up. Schofield glances up at him again, then takes the head of his cock in his mouth. Blake leans forward, hand moving to clamp over the back of his neck. Slowly, Schofield takes more of his length in his mouth, never breaking eye contact. Blake curses, tilting his head back and screwing his eyes shut. He curses again, louder, and Schofield pulls off to shush him, reaching up and grabbing his hand.

'The walls are thin, Blake,' He whispers, grinning.

'Mum's a heavy sleeper,' Blake murmurs, then quiets down. He watches him, and Schofield can't name the look in his eyes. He pulls his hand free from his and wraps it around his shaft, and strokes him slowly. Blake cups the side of his head, rubbing his thumb over the shell of his ear. 'Sco, I - ' He starts, then goes quiet. Schofield leans up and kisses him.

'It's okay.' He murmurs as he pulls away. Blake looks down at him, then pulls him back in. Schofield slowly rises up and sits on the edge of the bed beside him. He breaks the kiss for a moment to smile at him, never stopping his movements. Blake grips his elbow, pushing their foreheads together.

'I'm close.' He croaks, and Schofield kisses him, speeding up his strokes. Blake whines his name into his mouth and grabs his hand when he comes, squeezing his fingers around his shaft. Most of it ends up on Blake's stomach, but some hits Schofield's forearm. Schofield gently lets go of him and wraps his arms around him, pulling him against his chest. Blake kisses his temple and leans into him, panting.

When he's recovered, Blake pulls away and opens the drawer of his bedside table. He comes up with a kerchief and wipes his stomach, his movements sluggish. He takes hold of Schofield's arm and wipes that off too, then pulls him back with him as he lies back.

Schofield rests his head on his chest, over his heart, and Blake circles a protective arm around his shoulders.

'Are you going home in the morning?' He asks quietly.

'I probably should.' Schofield runs his fingers down his sternum to his navel. Blake is silent for a moment, then rests his chin on the top of his head.

'You don't have to. We could - you could stay. A bit longer.'

'Blake...'

'Will,' Blake breathes, 'You know... Out there, during the quiet bits, or when I really missed home, I always liked to imagine what life would be like after the war. And even though I figured we would probably lose touch, you were always there. In my wishful thinking. Not always _with_ me, but there. We would own identical little cottages, only a few meters away from each other. I would grow cherries like Mum, and every May you'd help me pick them all.' Schofield is silent for a minute.

'I'd get you a dog,' He finally says, throat tight, 'Like your Mrytle.'

'No dog is as good as Mrytle.' Blake says with a laugh.

'Our dog would be.' Under him, Blake stiffens. Schofield presses on. 'We... we only own one cottage. With two bedrooms, so no one asks too many prying questions. We'll be those old men that everyone knows are in love but no one talks about, because they bring all their neighbours fresh bread and eggs from their chicken coop.'

'Love?' Blake's voice is tight.

'Out of all of that, that's what you take away from it?' Schofield teases, pulling away to look at him. There are tears in Blake's eyes, and he reaches out, brushing them away. 'Hey - just because I'll go tomorrow doesn't mean I won't be back. And you can come to me. Or we can meet in the middle. Maybe even travel - I hear France is beautiful.' Blake laughs at that, taking his hand and pressing it to his cheek.

'Maybe we should leave those guys alone for a little while. Let them fill in the trenches.'

'I guess you're right.' Schofield lies back down. 'And we'll write to each other when we aren't together. Every day.'

'Well - postage might get a bit pricey if we do that.' Blake teases, and Schofield pinches him in the ribs.

'Every day.'

xx

Schofield leaves after breakfast. Anna kept looking between the two of them while they ate like she knew what happened last night but didn't want to say anything.

'You're welcome back anytime, Will,' She says when he thanks her for her hospitality, 'Don't be a stranger.'

'I won't, ma'am.' He says, shaking her hand.

Blake walks him to the train station.

They don't talk much, just walk side by side, taking the morning in. It reminds Schofield of that horrible day, in those precious moments before that plane went down and everything went to shit. He falters, and Blake rests his hand on his arm. He looks at him, and his expression tells him that he's thinking the same thing.

'Hey,' Blake says quietly, 'Come on.'

He pulls him off the road and behind a tree. After they glance around each other, they kiss quickly, and Blake cups his face.

'Okay?' He asks. Schofield nods.

'We won't lose touch,' He murmurs, pulling him back into a kiss, 'I won't let us.'

xx

As the train pulls into the station, Blake presses a note into his hand.

'Read it when you miss me,' He says softly, leaning as close as he can with everyone around them. Schofield nods and squeezes his hand briefly before pulling away and climbing on the train.

He watches Blake as the train pulls out of the station. Blake raises a hand in farewell just before he shrinks out of sight.

Schofield sits back against the seat, and digs the note out of his pocket, unfolding it with trembling fingers.

 _I knew you wouldn't wait long_ , it reads, _I'll see you soon. Yours, Tom._

**Author's Note:**

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